


Anything Goes

by lyndysambora



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-10-06 05:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyndysambora/pseuds/lyndysambora
Summary: Duff is curious.





	1. Something That I Haven't Had Yet

Duff watches the way Axl leans his head toward Izzy’s to talk. Something nobody else can hear. The way Izzy responds with a small grin, and shakes his head. The way Axl’s hand disappears beneath the table, and Izzy’s grin disappears, and he reclines in the restaurant bench, closes his eyes, pretends to be tired or too stoned to engage. Axl sips his drink with his free hand. 

Duff watches and wonders what it would be like.

For a moment, Axl glances up and catches Duff’s eye, and Duff knows he should look away, fake obliviousness, but he doesn’t. Axl smiles, and a small shiver runs through Duff’s body. He is somehow a part of it now, isn’t he? All tangled up in the dark and intoxicating web of it, by way of exchanging that eye contact with Axl-- among other things-- holding his gaze as the other man does god-knows-what to Izzy under the table? 

Not really, Duff decides. Gets a hold on himself, for fuck’s sake. He is not involved. No exchange of touching. No sensation of skin on skin. He is an outsider, and it feels like a hole behind his ribs.

He clears his throat and turns his attention back to his drink. He’s never been with a man in his life. Not that he hasn’t thought about it, but… those sorts of things came with caveats when you were trying to claw your way into the business. You had to be able to trust people, and there were ways to go about things, and Duff hadn’t known what those ways were, and he hadn’t known who to trust. And now that he was firmly _in_ the business, well-- it just had never happened. 

It had happened for Izzy and Axl immediately. So immediately that Duff wondered if they weren’t already fucking before they left Indiana. Izzy was Duff’s best friend, pretty much from the moment they had met, but he had never asked that. He never asked Izzy anything about his relationship with Axl, actually. He only knew it existed because of the body language, and because of the times he had caught them when they weren’t being so careful to hide it. Like last night. 

Duff had stumbled, shitfaced, into the bathroom of Izzy’s suite, unsure if he was gonna puke or piss (or both) while he was in there, only to find the bathroom was already occupied. Izzy was on his knees, his mouth full of Axl’s dick, Axl’s fists full of Izzy’s hair. For a minute-- and it might have been an actual full minute, Duff wasn’t sure-- he had stood there and watched them, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Of course he knew, in the back of his mind, that Izzy and Axl were doing the deed on the sly, and that they had some kind of special coziness about them even when they were out in the open. But that was the first time Duff had witnessed something so blatant. The other times could have been written off as misunderstandings and paranoia and Duff being too drunk to properly assess what he had seen. But this…

This was Axl getting deep-throated by his guitarist.

Instead of backing out of the room, Duff, in his stupor, had gone, “Umm…” out loud.

Axl and Izzy had exclaimed at roughly the same time.

Axl had groaned and said, “Get the fuck out!”

Izzy had pulled off and grinned at Duff and said, “You wanna tag-team, fag? Axl is real good at giving head.”

Laughing, Axl said, “Fuck you, _Jeff_,” as Izzy resumed sucking him off. Axl turned to Duff, fighting to keep his eyes from rolling up in his head. “But I _am_ good at it,” he gasped. “He’s not lying. Ah, _fuck…_”

Duff _thought_ he may have squeaked out an awkward _I’ll leave you two alone_ before he took the fuck off, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he might have filled in that part of his memory out of sheer embarrassment. Much more likely he simply turned and ran.

Duff watches Axl pull his hand, now curled lightly into a fist, out from underneath the table, and casually wipe it on a napkin. A jolt of arousal, hot and electric, lights up Duff’s crotch, and he diverts his gaze, tries to pretend he knows nothing about any of it. Tries to forget he saw what he saw last night, or that he knows Axl’s hand and napkin are sticky with Izzy’s come right now in a public place.

He tries to forget the regret that he didn’t take Izzy up on last night’s offer.

It’s Izzy, after all, his best friend. Who better to experiment with, right? Axl scares Duff a little (okay, a lot) but if Izzy trusts him, then he can’t be too bad. That’s the rationale Duff is going with, anyway.

Duff watches Izzy’s hand disappear under the table, and the way Axl, now, slides down a little in his seat, his eyes closing. But unlike Izzy, Axl has no poker face, and cannot contain his smile. Nobody suspects anything strange, because Axl is strange like that, often silently amused at something going on in his own head. Duff is the only one at the table nursing a hard-on and watching his bandmates, squished together for lack of space on the bench, trading handjobs within inches of their friends eating (and drinking) dinner.

Duff’s stomach flipflops mercilessly and he downs his beer in one go, hoping it will help quell the storm there. 

Axl pulls the sunglasses down from off the top of his head and props them in place before his eyes, further hiding himself from scrutiny. The sunglasses are huge and black, and with the bandana around his forehead, it’s impossible to tell facial expressions now, as long as he keeps his mouth in line. 

Izzy grins at the action, and then picks up his drink with his free hand, pretending to be listening to any of the random conversations around him. His gaze lands on Duff, who is now no longer even pretending to be looking anywhere else. Izzy lifts his eyebrows momentarily, as if to say, _yeah?_, and though Duff desperately wants to do something cool-- cock an eyebrow in return, or give him a devious smile-- he swallows hard and looks down into his empty beer glass.

When he dares to look back up again, minutes or lifetimes later, Izzy and Axl are talking. Duff is forgotten.

\----------------------------------------

“Hey, Iz?”

“What?”

Izzy’s head and shoulders are hunched over the guitar in his lap as he chases down inversions of a chord in his mind that isn’t making the leap to his fingers. This time, the party is in Slash’s suite, and Izzy is alone in his bedroom, as Duff knows he prefers

_when he’s not blowing Axl_

if he can manage it. Duff has the extra key though, like he always does.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Izzy doesn’t respond, which Duff accepts as a _yes_, considering his friend’s attention is on finding a note, and Duff is kind of lucky Izzy even knows he’s in the room.

Clearing his throat, Duff sits next to Izzy on his bed and waits until Izzy’s face brightens up a little, and he repeats the same chord over and over a few times, before integrating it into a riff he has apparently been working on. He finally looks up.

Duff clears his throat again. “Um.”

“What?”

The urge to bolt washes over Duff, but he assuages himself by rubbing his forearms like he has fleas.

“The other night--”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Izzy says. “You didn’t need to see that.”

“No, it’s just…” Duff wonders if the skin of his arms will just come off at some point and fall onto Izzy’s floor. Or maybe he’ll just shit himself from nerves or something, his stomach is churning already--

“Jesus, what are you so worked up about? You knew me and Axl were… you know. You had to know.”

“I did know. It’s not that,” Duff says, squeezing his hands into fists to quench the urge to claw his flesh off his bones. “It’s just… you said, ‘you wanna tag-team’…”

It just sits there in the air in front of his mouth like a ridiculous troll, mocking him, making him into something--

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, too,” Izzy says. 

The troll disintegrates.

Duff takes a breath, a clean one, the breath of a free man who could technically take advantage of Izzy’s lack of mind-reading and run like hell from the situation and--

“Or wait,” Izzy says, his eyebrows scrunching delicately to accompany his confused half-smile. “Or you saying you’re interested?”

_shit_

Duff wiggles his fingers and then clenches them into fresh fists. “Um--”

The half-smile, no longer confused, spreads across Izzy’s face. “_Michael McKagan,_” he says, clutching his collar tight to his neck, for lack of a string of pearls, and Duff wants to punch him in the nuts.

“Shut up.”

“Is that what it is?” Izzy asks, now chuckling. “You want in?”

“No.”

“I thought you were afraid of Axl.”

“I’m not afraid of Axl!”

“All right!” Izzy says. He raises his hands before himself in a quick surrender motion before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tapping one out. “Here, you want one? You look like you need one.”

“No,” Duff snaps.

Izzy makes the surrender motion again, and lights up. He takes a deep drag and when he pulls the cigarette from his mouth, he says, “Seriously, is that what you’re asking right now? If you can join in?”

“I keep hoping the floor will just swallow me whole--”

“Eh, quit being a pussy,” Izzy says, but his cheeks are slightly pink now. “I don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure Axl’d be into doing you if he wasn’t a dick about sharing me. Probably depends on the mood he’s in that day.”

“This is a bad idea,” Duff says, standing. “He’s gonna be mad, and he won’t want us to be friends and--”

“Hey--” Izzy says suddenly, grabbing Duff’s forearm. “He doesn’t scare me. And he doesn’t tell me who I can be friends with either.”

Duff feels a little of the tension drain from his shoulders, but he remains on his feet. 

“He’s like a fucking mosquito,” Izzy continues. “He annoys the shit out of me, but he doesn’t scare me. Sit down.”

Duff sits again, delicately, as if the bed is fragile and might fall through the floor at any moment. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he folds them in his lap like he is in church, and waits for Izzy to speak.

Izzy, the asshole, takes the time to finish his cigarette, before continuing.

“You ever been with a guy before?”

“No.” Duff’s folded hands are now wringing themselves.

“Why not?”

“What kind of question is that?”

To Duff’s irritation, Izzy laughs. “I don’t know. I thought it was valid.”

Duff untangles his hands and moves to stand again, but Izzy grabs his arm. “Sit still, you rabbit-ass fucker.”

“I don’t think I should have said anything.”

“Shut up,” Izzy says, stretching a hand up behind Duff’s head and pulling him into a kiss. It’s hard, and their tongues meet with no preamble. It steals the breath from Duff’s lungs within a second, and when Izzy backs away, he lights another cigarette. Duff accepts this one.

“I’ll talk to Axl,” Izzy says. Then he smacks his lips. “You taste good. I’ll let him know that.”

Duff’s face goes up in flames.

\------------------------------

The mosquito comparison buzzes back into Duff’s mind on stage the next night. He pushes every ounce of mental energy he has down his arms and into his instrument, as Axl circles him repeatedly while he sings. Duff is like a gravitational pull to Axl’s celestial body, as the other man is continually drawn to him, pressing himself to Duff’s sweaty, shirtless back, circling an arm around his shoulders to offer Duff his microphone.

_he knows_

The realization pummels Duff in a dozen different parts of his body, in a dozen different ways, great and terrible.

_he knows what I told Izzy he knows I kissed Izzy_

The thought is barely formed when Axl creeps up next to him again, this time landing a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in. He presses his mouth close to Duff’s ear. 

“You’re fuckin’ mine, McKagan.”

And then he was gone. Back to rocketing around the stage, almost before Duff’s nipples had time to harden into diamonds from an exquisite mixture of horniness and terror.


	2. My Way, Your Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You nervous?"

“You nervous?”

Izzy and Duff sit on the couch in the living room of Axl’s hotel suite and wait. Izzy-- who is in the adjoining suite, and has the key to the place-- has shown up in boxer shorts and a tee shirt. Things he would normally sleep in.

Duff, on the other hand, is wearing jeans and a tee shirt, and felt stupid the moment he walked in. Why did he wear actual clothes?

But then again, what else would he have worn?

“You nervous?” Izzy asks again.

“No.”

Axl is in the shower. Has been since before Duff showed up, and Duff knows absolutely nothing about what Axl thinks about any of this. Aside from the man’s assertion onstage that Duff “was his”, there has been nothing to clue Duff in to what the general mood is. Izzy seems pretty relaxed, but in a came-to-hang-out-and-play-cards sort of way. 

Maybe it’s a mistake. The whole thing.

Axl emerges from the master suite, wearing cut-off sweatpants that might have fit him at one time, but were now only clinging to the angles of his hips by virtue of a well-worn drawstring. The tee shirt he wears doesn’t quite reach his waist, and his lower legs and feet are bare. He is rubbing at his hair with a towel, and when he sees Izzy and Duff seated on the couch, he pauses for a moment, towel to head, and for that brief interlude, Duff’s stomach lurches. He forgot. Axl forgot. How did he for—

Tossing the towel to the floor, Axl runs his hands through his hair to slick it back from his face, then he smiles. 

“You look nervous, McKagan.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You should be. I know you and Izzy already fucked without me.”

Duff’s head goes light, and he looks to Izzy for help. “We didn’t! I didn’t—”

But Izzy is shaking his head, forcing a straight face. “Stop it, Ax. He’ll never get a boner again.”

Axl chuckles, then slides down into the couch beside Duff, sandwiching the man between himself and Izzy. “Sure he will,” he says, dangling fingertips above Duff’s thigh, so close, but not quite touching. 

Duff closes his eyes.

The feel of Axl’s warm breath against his ear makes him shudder. “What exactly is it you want tonight, Cherry?”

“I don’t know,” Duff whispers.

“Liar,” Axl hisses, and then chuckles again. Sits back. “You know. You just don’t wanna say.”

The feel of Axl’s hand invades the space between Duff’s legs, squeezes the flesh of his inner thigh, and Duff’s breath releases with an audible choke. 

“Open your mouth,” Axl says, and Duff, eyes still crushed shut, obeys.

The taste is the first thing that registers-- unfiltered Marlboros and Jim Beam-- and Duff pushes into it, opens his mouth wider, thrusts his own tongue into Axl’s mouth. He is barely aware of Izzy’s hand in his hair, moving it, until he feels the wet heat of the other man’s mouth on the curve between his neck and shoulder. A groan delivers from somewhere deep in his chest, unbidden, followed by an equally unbidden, 

“Oh god--” 

breathed right into Axl’s mouth.

“Roll with it, Cherry,” Axl murmurs back. 

Hands-- by the angle of them, probably Izzy’s, but Duff doesn’t really know-- begin to toy with the bottom hem of his shirt. Slide up beneath it, fingertips pressing into his abdomen. 

Duff’s body stiffens, seized by the part of his brain that tells him to be in control, to know what he’s doing. The part of him that is used to being with drunken, smitten groupies, one at a fucking time…

Izzy is pulling his shirt up, and Axl is speaking again, but his words are muffled against the roar of white noise in Duff’s head--

_roll with it…_

“There you go,” Izzy breathes against his ear, before kissing it. 

A deep shiver passes through every muscle in Duff’s body as, for a moment, the sensation of Izzy’s lips and the artful fluttering of Axl’s tongue over Duff’s other nipple combine in an unholy circuit of electricity.

“Ungh--” Duff manages to say, “I--” 

“Mmm,” Axl purrs against the throbbing little knot of flesh caught between his lips. “Feed me.”

Duff gasps and pushes the man’s head away. Axl is laughing, but he is also pushing his hair back from his face again, readying himself to come back for more.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” he asks. “That circus tent you got in your pants tells me different.”

“Fuck--”

Sitting back, Axl heaves a heavy, thoughtful exhale, then puckers his lips in thought. He looks up at Izzy.

“I don’t know if he’s relaxed enough for this shit.”

Izzy releases the pressure from Duff’s chest. “You need a drink?” he says, the air from his words tousling the hair beside Duff’s cheek and sending goosebumps over his skin.

“I don’t know.”

“He needs a drink,” Izzy informs Axl, before pushing Duff unceremoniously off of him and getting up from the couch. “Where’s your booze, baby?”

“There’s a bottle of Beam in the bathtub,” Axl says. “And there’s a bottle of some fancy-ass Champagne in the closet that tastes like shit. They sent up two bottles of it, but I poured one of ‘em out the window and fucking hit some asshole who looked like fucking Gordon Gekko.”

Izzy snorts and starts laughing as he makes his way toward the master suite and, presumably, the bourbon.

“And I got a fifth of Ketel One, too, if you like your booze to taste like water and lighter fluid.”

Another laugh issues from the vicinity of the master suite, and a realization clutches Duff by the stomach-- 

_where’s your booze, baby_

Izzy and Axl are not just fellow musicians and buddies who happen to fuck each other on the side. They have a connection to one another that Duff knows nothing about. That Duff _can’t_ know anything about. They’ve spent time together under the veil of post-orgasmic tranquility. Touching, talking. Izzy has seen Axl quiet and pensive, and when he says he is not afraid of the man, it is not a defensive statement; he means it. They know each other.

This is definitely a mistake.

Izzy emerges, holding both the bourbon and the vodka, and plunks them onto the coffee table in front of the couch. “Drink up, Duffy,” he says. “You make me anxious when you’re anxious.”

Duff turns to Axl, his heart thumping a solid kick drum rhythm behind his sternum. “Gimme a couple of your Valiums,” he says. “And then let me watch you guys for awhile.”

Head snapping in Izzy’s direction, Axl grins wickedly. “Oh! Iz. We got a live one here.”

Shrugging, Izzy says, “Toldja,” then drops into a chair.

Axl unwinds his legs and pops off in the direction of the master suite, retracing Izzy’s steps. Disappears. And Duff takes a full breath.

Izzy nails him with a narrowed-eyed stare. “You sure?”

“What?”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I won’t drink as much, okay?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” Duff asks. “You think I ain’t ready for this?” His lungs tighten, and he can hear the higher timbre of his own voice. Or maybe it’s his imagination. “You wanna know how many times I beat off thinking about you guys fist-fucking each other under the table?”

Izzy leans back a little, as though physically pushed by the admission. His eyes crinkle a bit at the edges, in smiling fashion, but his mouth remains neutral. 

Axl reappears with a small foil card, which he hands to Duff. Four of the ten blisters still contain blue tablets. 

Duff pops two of the pills out and swallows them with a hefty portion of the Ketel, straight from the bottle. When he lifts the bottle to his lips a second time, Axl swipes it from him and drains a good bit of it himself. 

“I want you relaxed, not unconscious,” he says, after swallowing.

Duff attempts to give a coy smile-- or something-- but he thinks he probably is just smirking. Either way.

“Now,” Axl says. “What do you want us to do, baby boy? For your viewing pleasure?”

“Um--”

“He was just telling me a good story,” Izzy says. “While you were gone. Tell him, Duffy.”

_Now_ the smile has reached Izzy’s lips.

“Um--”

“Tell me, Cherry,” Axl says. “I’m a good boy, you can trust me.”

A ringing begins in Duff’s ears. Low, almost too low to notice at first, it builds with the tempo of his pulse. 

“At dinner the other night,” he says. “You guys were--”

He couldn’t. How did he say those words to Izzy a minute ago? How long did it take Valium to work?

“We were what?” Axl asks, grazing his fingertips over Duff’s knee. “Which dinner?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, _that_ dinner,” Axl says. “Which part of it?”

The ringing in Duff’s ears is getting louder, but he can still hear the soft noise of Izzy’s laughter. 

“The part where you guys… were-- you know. Doing shit under the table.”

“Like coke?”

“Like fucking handjobs, you cunt!”

Axl snorts and dissolves in laughter himself for a second, before gathering his wits again. Despite the momentary breakdown, his eyes are still laser-sharp. “I like this side of you. You want us to tug each other off for you?”

“Yeah,” Duff says. “But… not all the way.”

Fire erupts inside Duff’s skin as he says it, his face blushing two thousand degrees. 

Axl looks him up and down. Appraising. “All right,” he says. 

Before Duff can respond, Izzy is standing above him. “Take my seat,” he says, and when Duff stands to trade Izzy spots, he can feel the barest beginnings of warmth in his legs, the first hints of the Valium taking hold, fast-tracked into his bloodstream by the vodka.

He sinks into the chair that Izzy had occupied, and watches as Izzy kneels on the sofa next to Axl. Axl moves into him without hesitation, his open mouth claiming the skin beneath Izzy’s earlobe, his hand claiming the space between Izzy’s thighs. 

Izzy’s head lolls backward a little, and he grasps Axl’s upper arms to steady himself. His legs part wider to allow for the other man’s hand to search every inch. 

Duff is instantly, painfully hard.

“Ooh, you wanted this bad, huh?” Axl murmurs against Izzy’s neck, and Izzy nods, still groping for leverage against Axl’s arms and shoulders. 

“God, yes.”

“You don’t even care someone’s watching, you dirty little thing?”

“Never bothered me before,” Izzy pants, and Axl chuckles. 

Duff’s heart does a small flip of jealousy, and he pushes it down and away. 

_never bothered me before_

Is he speaking in general? Sharing girls in the early days, and when quarters were so cramped that even monogamous encounters were de facto orgies? Or were Izzy and Axl specifically sharing each other as a couple already? Maybe with another band member?

Why did it matter?

But before the jealousy can be fully quashed, it boils out in a demand.

“Take your clothes off. Both of you.”

And if Duff is not mistaken, a small groan of pleasure escapes Izzy’s suddenly grinning lips. 

Axl looks up, and eyes Duff up and down for what feels like whole minutes.

“Okay,” he finally says. “You first.”


	3. Push and Squeeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duff feels his body pushing back against the fingers, as if he is not in control of himself. There is some primal command in his guts telling him that the fingers are good, and he needs them inside his body or he’s going to cease to exist.

Duff stands on legs that seem suddenly unstable, and tries to tell himself it’s the substances beginning to course through him. 

Axl’s goading grin tells him it’s not.

_you’re fuckin’ mine, McKagan_

Duff pulls off his shirt, feeling his nipples tighten again under the man’s attention. He means to toss it aside carelessly, but he holds it a beat too long, and starts wadding it up in his hands for no reason he can figure out, before just dropping it at his feet. 

Axl is still smiling. 

The Valium is working.

“Good?” Duff asks. Again, no idea why he does. But he does. And Axl seems to approve. 

“Yeah, now do your pants.”

Duff strips his pants and underwear off without ceremony and kicks them aside. “You like what you see?” he suddenly says, and his voice sounds biting to his own ears, a dare of sorts, and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. 

“Fuck yeah, I do,” Axl says. 

“Now you.”

Glancing back at Izzy for a beat, Axl says, “You’re awful fucking bossy. I don’t know if I like it.”

Duff attempts to come up with a quick and sexy retort, but for a cursed moment, he remembers he is standing there naked, dick semi-hard, and Axl Rose, who, even on a good day, scares him to fucking death, is giving him that narrowed-eyed appraising look that rarely ends in approval. 

And so he makes the mistake of also glancing at Izzy, who happens to be lurching in silent laughter. 

To his horror, he hears himself saying instead, “This is stupid, isn’t it? You guys are… already a thing, and I’m--”

But Axl has already approached him, moved in close. “I said I _didn’t know_ if I liked it. You talk too fucking much.”

A bitter laugh puffs from Duff’s throat. “I can’t stop.”

Cocking his head thoughtfully, Axl says, “Here. Let me help.” He reaches up and spreads an open hand over Duff’s entire face, gripping it slightly and drawing the man downward by it. 

Duff allows himself to be pulled to his knees. 

When Axl lets go, he undoes the tie of his pants and lets them drop. 

“Can’t talk if your mouth is full.”

Duff’s heart slams into his ribs, his cock rock-hard and on fire already. Axl’s cock is only half-hard, probably lingering arousal from groping Izzy a minute ago, and Duff has a flash of terror that he won’t be able to bring it all the way hard.

And then he swallows it whole. 

Somewhere above him, he hears a shuddering gasp, and Axl’s hand dives into in his hair.

Duff’s teeth land-- hard-- across the skin beneath them, once, twice, and he can’t figure out exactly how to keep that from happening for more than three consecutive seconds, and every time it happens, the hand on his head balls into a fist, threatening to take the hair clean out of his scalp. 

But the shuddering breaths above him become groans, and Axl’s dick gets hard, fast, under Duff’s tongue. The smell and taste of soap give way to the smell of Duff’s own saliva, and Duff is unaware that he has company until Izzy is right behind him, skin to skin, whispering in his ear,

“Your turn, kid.”

Startled, Duff almost bites Axl before pulling off him. For a second, he interprets Izzy’s comment as _my turn_, and moves aside, waits for the man to take his place sucking Axl off. But Izzy, who is now stark naked, except for half a dozen bracelets and a knotted bandana on his left forearm, is only grinning at him, wolfish and a little intimidating, and not at all like the thoughtful and quiet best friend Duff is used to.

Duff’s cock twitches with approval, even while his mind whirls.

Axl, whose hand is still in Duff’s hair, pulls him up by it, until he is standing at attention before him. Izzy follows. 

“On the couch,” Axl says, directing Duff to sit in the middle. Once he is down, Axl grabs him by the knees, pulling his ass outward to the edge of the cushion he occupies. An unexpected groan of pleasure trickles from Duff’s throat. 

“Spread ‘em,” Izzy says, joining Axl between Duff’s thighs, pushing them wider until it is almost painful, kneeling, burying his face into the place where Duff’s thigh and groin and ass cheek meet, sucking the skin there. 

Duff’s head drops back onto the edge of the couch, his thighs flexing against the shoulders and arms of the men holding them open. He squeezes his eyes shut just before the sensation of a tongue moving slowly up the length of his dick makes him shiver to his core. 

“_God,”_ he whispers. “Oh god--”

Another mouth is sucking at his balls, softly at first, then rough. A hand moves in and clutches his balls, kneads them, pulls them out of the way to make room for a face moving in below them, a tongue prodding his asshole. 

“_Fuck!”_

“Mm, you like that?” 

It’s Izzy’s voice, which means it’s Axl’s mouth on his ass, and Duff’s heart hammers like he might die on the spot.

“You should watch,” Izzy says.

“I can’t,” Duff whimpers.

Axl pauses just long enough to say, “Pussy,” before resuming eating him alive, and Duff chokes on his own breath.

“Open those eyes,” Izzy sing-songs.

_fuck!_

It’s too much already, can a person go insane from this?

“Open those eyes, Duffy…”

Duff struggles to lift his eyelids. A fraction of the way, a narrow squint, just enough for the men’s forms to come into focus, just enough to see Izzy catch his gaze as he tongued his cock.

Duff is gonna come. Two minutes into it, and he is gonna come. Was that the plan? Was that normal? Should he say something?

It’s a few seconds before he realizes his eyes are closed again, because it’s only brute sensation that tells him Izzy’s hand is on his dick, holding it as he kisses the head of it, deep and intense, lips and tongue, like he’s making out with a mouth instead of a cock. 

“Fuck, oh _fuck--_”

His legs shudder hard against the barriers of the other men’s bodies, all instinct making him want to squeeze them shut, for whatever reason, and he can swear he hears the quietest chuckle from Axl, right before he feels the man’s fingers begin to probe him. Two fingertips, or maybe three, push against the now-slickened flesh there, teasing entrance. Threatening entrance. 

Duff feels his body pushing back against the fingers, as if he is not in control of himself. There is some primal command in his guts telling him that the fingers are good, and he needs them inside his body or he’s going to cease to exist. 

Izzy’s mouth envelops his cock, and Duff sucks in a hard breath, lets it out in a moan much louder than he means to. He writhes against the dual assault of the hot, wet confines his dick has succumbed to, and the fingers he can’t seem to force himself onto, and in desperation, he says,

“Oh god, just do it!”

“Do what?” Axl replies, but for the first time, his voice has lost its cool, and he sounds out of breath himself. Hungry.

The sound of it sends a fresh wave of fire through Duff, and he says, “Fuck me--”

The words are only past his lips when the other man’s fingers drive into him. Duff barely has time to process the sensation, pain and pleasure and harder pain, and pleasure _because of_ the pain, he doesn’t know, he’s not even sure he’s part of his body anymore, when he feels the jolt of himself coming hard into the depths of Izzy’s mouth. 

It feels like someone else making the noises that issue from his chest.

He is only vaguely aware that the other men have withdrawn from between his legs, and have allowed his feet to land safely on the carpet. His heart thumps wildly, and for awhile, that is all he can hear. It matches the thumping of blood that permeates his entire pelvis. 

When the cloud of stupefaction lifts enough for him to process the outside world again, he realizes the sounds he is hearing, aside from the pumping of his own heart, are the grunts and moans of Izzy and Axl, who are feverishly rubbing each other’s cocks, their tongues curling against one another’s as they work. 

Duff’s body lights up again.

He’s not sure who comes first, because their bodies are so close together, and it seems almost instantaneous. But then they are sprawled apart on the carpet, each of them laughing softly.

“_Fuck,”_ Axl says. “That was good.”

Izzy laughs again, but says nothing. He closes his eyes.

A sudden thought threatens to demolish Duff’s afterglow, but the lightness of his body gives him the strength to voice it immediately. “Should I leave?” he says.

Axl lifts his head. “Why? We’re not done with you yet.”

Then he lays his head back down.

Duff’s dick begins to harden again.


	4. Something to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You ready now, huh?” **TW: Possible dubcon. See author's note.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Possible dubcon.** I am putting a /possible/ on this one because it depends on how you would personally classify dubcon. VERY intoxicated fucking. Covering my bases.

Axl is speaking.

The words are like honey, his voice a soft rumble vibrating the soft expanse of Duff’s neck right below his ear. Or maybe he’s kissing him there. Or both, is that possible?

They are in a bed. Duff is lying on his back, sprawled with his arms outstretched and bent above him, nestled into a mass of pillows. His head, however, is only partially on a pillow; half of it is pushed unceremoniously into the sheet, in a nest of sweat-scented hair that threatens to overtake his face. His own or Axl’s, he’s not sure yet. Probably a mixture.

He has no memory of arriving here, in the bed, into the sweet vibration of Axl’s voice, which is murmuring…

What?

Duff still can’t quite make out what Axl is saying, and he doesn’t really care yet. His mind will pick up when it picks up. For now, he is floating in a space that is both inside and outside his own body.

It’s not normally so blissful to lose time like this. Mostly it’s confusing, sometimes frightening. But the sound of Axl’s voice… and the _feel_ of… Duff realizes there is another body to the other side of him, this one silent, but running hands over him--

They have no idea he has lost time. It can’t have been any more than a few minutes, but Duff has no idea how he arrived here, in the soft refuge of blankets and warm, naked skin, but he thinks he could live here forever, given the chance.

Izzy’s voice, gentle in his ear: “I wanna get inside you. I’m trying to be patient but I really wanna fuck you. I can take it easy on you--”

Lust, deep and raw, washes over Duff’s entire physical body in a flash, and he groans with the sheer _aliveness_ of it, like sparking electricity over and under his flesh. 

“Do it,” he says. He is already breathing hard, and somebody’s hand-- he doesn’t know whose, and he doesn’t care-- is already between his legs. He pulls his knees up to allow whoever it is access to whatever parts of him they want, but his legs are weak with chemicals, both the ones he’s ingested and the ones his own body is making, and his thighs begin to shiver dangerously. “Do it,” he says again, but he doesn’t know why. “Take it.”

Axl’s lips graze his ear, sending vibrations through him. “Mm, you’re a little whore, aren’t you? How come we never knew?”

“You never asked,” Duff says, groaning again at the feel of fingers, now wet and slick and almost cold, pushing inside him again. 

Axl scoops him under the trembling knees with a forearm, pushing his thighs up to his chest, and Duff realizes it’s Izzy’s hands this time having their way with him out of the line of his vision. 

He lets Axl tip his face sideways with his free hand and catch his mouth with his own. Allows himself to be invaded by the man’s tongue, the way he’s being invaded by Izzy’s fingers, which are now searching inside him for--

“_Hngh--”_

“_Yes--”_ Izzy whispers, pulsing his fingers harder against the spot that is making Duff want to both piss himself and leave his body at the same time. 

He attempts to moan, but Axl’s mouth is crushed hard against his, and the sound is swallowed into the meeting of their tongues, and when he feels his hips trying to join in with the rhythm set by Izzy’s fingers, the man’s other hand snakes up between his legs, pushes down against his pelvis and he is paralyzed. His legs shudder against the trammel of Axl’s forearm, hard.

He pulls his head back into the pillows, away from the kiss, to gasp for air, and it comes back out in a strangled almost-scream that ripples with the shuddering of his legs.

“Are you gonna come?” Axl says.

“Oh god--”

“You gonna come?”

“Oh god, I don’t know--

“What do you want?”

Duff attempts to lift his head, but it droops back into the pillow almost as quickly as he raises it. “Fuck me-- oh, god--” 

“Mm, good boy” Axl says, letting go of Duff’s legs. And then, “I believe that’s an order, Iz.”

A fresh wave of desire, impossibly hot and liquid, courses through Duff as Izzy’s body presses to the backs of his legs, and the man--

_oh god_

pushes into him,

_oh fuck_

begins to move inside him. 

This time, Izzy allows Duff to draw up into it, to move in rhythm with it, as much as his shaky legs will allow him, and within a moment, it’s back, the ungodly building heat inside his midsection, pulsing in time with muscles that are starting to do whatever in the fuck they want to do now. 

Duff writhes against the sensation, letting himself make sounds that he know will probably embarrass him to remember tomorrow but for now he doesn’t care, and he _can’t_ fucking care--

He pushes his eyelids open-- they have been closed again-- and finds his vision blurry with pried-out tears. Axl is watching him in the way a person might watch a baby bird hatch from an egg; some kind of gentle awe that Duff isn’t sure he’s ever seen before on the man pervades his face and, partially to interrupt the moment, he reaches for Axl’s hand and pulls it to his own dick. 

The look of gentle awe pops like a soap bubble, replaced with a nasty smile. 

“You ready now, huh?”

“Fuck, yes--”

Axl’s fingers graze lightly up the underside of Duff’s cock, creating fire there, and spasms in his thighs. 

Duff moans. “Just do it, _fuck_, I’m gonna die--”

Axl’s hand is hot when it latches on, squeezing, not rubbing but _massaging_, fuck maybe he is using both hands, and Izzy has a hold of his thighs now, using them to push him up into the onslaught, jesus fucking christ, what the fuck--

Ecstasy crashes hard into him, pelvis-first, before billowing in waves out through him, one after another after another, and his body lurches against both of theirs. He has no idea if he is yelling or crying or what he is even saying as the waves crest, and as they fall, he attempts to push himself away, but neither of them releases their grip on him. 

“Let it go,” Izzy pants, still rolling against him, and in him, “let it go, let it go--”

The words aren’t even fully out of him before the second round of swells begin to surge through Duff, and this time he _knows_ he is screaming, nonsense things and obscenities, but it’s the only way to survive it--

It feels like it takes full minutes before he can catch his breath, but it’s probably only a matter of seconds. Axl lets go of his dick and rolls away on the bed, laughing a little, like the only thing that has happened is a fun time, and Duff’s heart isn’t still exploding out of his chest for a thousand different reasons.

Izzy pulls out of him and crawls up next to him. “You okay?” he asks.

For a few moments, Duff isn’t even sure how to answer the question. Or if he should. Is it a real question?

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Did I hurt you?” Izzy says, and Duff shakes his head. 

“No. That’s not what-- No.”

“Okay,” Izzy says. He seems to understand. It’s enough for now, because Duff doesn’t think he can do any more talking just yet. Except.

“Should I go?” he asks. 

Axl rolls himself back toward him, landing body to body with him. He puts a finger to Duff’s lips. “Shh. You can suck my cock later for that. For now, just shut up, okay?”

“Okay.”

_later_

_there’s a later_

It’s the last thing that registers in Duff’s head before he loses time again. Or maybe it’s just sleep this time.

**END**


End file.
